camping | isaac lahey

A/N: I wrote this when I should’ve been studying for exams, but anyways, have some Isaac fluff. Love, J xx

Prompt: The pack go on a camping trip and much to your dismay, it ends up being a total couple’s trip with the exception of you and Isaac, whom you happened to be totally in love with.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning: So much fluff. So much cute.

Camping was Scott’s idea. The Alpha regularly scheduled these ridiculous bonding trips that the pack dreaded but nonetheless endured because no one had the heart to turn down Scott’s enthusiastic grin and puppy dog eyes. That’s how you found yourself struggling to mount your tent up in the middle of the California wilderness. You had followed Lydia’s directions as best as you could, but the sad little pile of tarp gathered on the ground looked nothing like the banshee’s model. 

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Another Day

Ship: Steter
Warning: suicidal thoughts


The house was quiet, like it always was when Stiles didn’t make the noise to fill it. His dad was holed up at the station for the third day in a row and Stiles’ motivation to pretend he was happy had faded away completely with no one there to swallow his performance. He should be doing his homework - it was all spread out before him across the kitchen table - but instead he was just sitting there, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and staring at the block of knives on the counter.

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blacktofade  asked:

Stiles as a professional cuddler, where he offers a range of services, from spooning to hand holding to quiet murmuring. Also, there are a lot of health benefits from being cuddled regularly and Derek happens to be in need of said benefits ;__;

counting sheep don’t help me sleep

(a little fic i wrote for my friends around the holidays)

Kira is probably the closest thing to a friend Derek has at work, a relationship that has its positives and negatives. Derek doesn’t really go out of his way to make friends with his coworkers, preferring to keep his head down and get his work done, but it’s nice to eat lunch with someone, to have someone say “Have a good weekend!” even if all Derek’s doing that weekend is what he does every weekend: workout, go to the library, watch a new foreign film (last weekend’s was De grønne slagtere, and he hasn’t been able bring himself to eat meat since).

The bad thing about being friends with Kira is that the longer they know each other, the more comfortable they are in each other’s presence, the more Kira seems to feel like she’s got to look after Derek for some reason. Kira’s a pretty empathetic person anyway; all the ladies in the office like telling her their horror stories about dating because Kira makes the best horrified faces in reaction to their sordid tales, but she takes it a step further with Derek. And, to a certain extent, Derek doesn’t mind that much; Kira reminds him of Laura in some ways, the way she gently teases him about his diet, and leaves little notes on his desk about inconsequential things - but then she takes an interest in his well being: his mental  wellbeing.

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Bait - Scott Imagine for Anon

Prompt can be found here.

Most women worry and stress about their partner’s reaction when they tell them they’re pregnant – but you didn’t. In fact, you never even had to tell Scott, because he found out before you did. He heard the extra heartbeat and had approached you with tears of joy trickling down his cheeks.

Ever since that day, he became even more caring and protective than usual. It wasn’t annoying; it was sweet, actually. Scott often called or texted you from work saying he thought of another baby name, which you usually disagreed on – especially when he would bring Stiles over to the house and hound you about it.

“Come on,” Stiles pleaded. “Name it after me.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose as short laughter escaped your lips. “Stiles, even you can’t pronounce your first name, why would I name my baby the same thing? Besides, we don’t know the gender yet.”

“Either way, I think it’d be awesome to name it after Stiles.” Scott shrugged and high-fived his best friend.

You rolled your eyes.

Other than the incessant pestering about the baby’s name, everything was fine. The baby would be born in a few weeks and you were happily married to the father; Scott. Everyone from the pack showered you with gifts and compliments, each one of them declaring themselves an aunt or uncle.

Both you and Scott had multiple conversations questioning the possibility of your baby being a werewolf. Although the two of you were fine with it, you had no experience raising a child, let alone a supernatural one. You’d have an extra weight on your shoulders and a constant concern of your child’s own safety.

“It’ll be fine,” Scott had assured you, “there hasn’t been any action since we had to deal with the dead-pool a few years ago.”

You believed him, just as you always did. Deep in your heart, you knew that if anything did happen, Scott would take care of it in a flash. He always knew just what to do and say.

On the current day, you were in your living room watching rom-coms and subconsciously rubbing your belly. Scott was at Stiles’ house, hanging out like they did every Saturday. It was a bit lonely without him in the house, but you were happy to let him have some time with his best friend since they rarely did anymore.

All was still; quiet. The only source of light in the room was from the television. The movie trailed on, earning a giggle from you every now and then. Outside, wind rushed through trees and the chorus of ruffling leaves could be heard.

And then a low, growling sound pierced your eardrums.

Your first instinct was to call out for your husband, plead for Scott to come home; but you couldn’t do anything. You sat, rooted in your spot, eyes widened in fear as you waited for the inevitable. Hands trembling over your rounded stomach, breaths short and loud; you didn’t – couldn’t – move. The creature’s snarling made a crescendo until its nose brushed against your ear. Every ounce of you quivered, silently praying for Scott. Scott.

It wasn’t until the mystery beast’s claws pressed into your bicep that your instinct kicked in, the desire to protect your unborn child. You pushed yourself off of the couch and made way for the stairs, skipping every other step, hoping – and knowing there was no way – that you could outrun the supernatural.

Helplessly, what was left of your voice screeched, “Scott!” Over and over, you wailed and begged until you could practically feel the beast’s presence behind you, the atmosphere growing chilled and suspenseful. The rumble that emanated from its throat was the last thing you heard before a sharp force met with your temple and your cheek met the carpet.


Days had passed.

You counted five, but you couldn’t be sure. The hunger was all you could focus on; your baby’s hunger. This was inhumane – it was torture. Days earlier, you’d woken up only to be met with a pitch black room. A room that echoed reflected moonlight on its cracked walls whenever the shine could manage to seep through the thin window above you. There was no bed, no bathroom, no food, no water; nothing. All you ever got were snide comments made by the men sent into the room to ensure you were still alive.

It was known that Scott would find you. He always found people. Yet, as the time blew by like dust, your hope dwindled and you found yourself willing for your baby to survive, even if that meant you wouldn’t. Your entire body felt weak, weak enough that you’d tried lifting yourself off of the floor and nearly passed out in the process.

Not sure when your last moments would be, you tried to keep your thoughts about the pack; tried to find something to hold on that much longer for – an anchor.

Your baby.

Tears pooled in your eyes. What if your baby didn’t make it, but you did? That would be cruel, it would be selfish. It would be your fault. You had to fight for your baby. Just stay strong a little bit longer and give Scott the time he needs to find you.

Easy, right?


It hasn’t been easy. Another day passed and you were almost positive that you were beginning to hallucinate when Deucalion, the man Scott and Derek gave a second chance years prior, began pacing around your room and mumbling nonsense to you. Everything sounded muffled, looked blurry, felt numb. It was cold, so cold.

The chipped concrete walls closed in on you, a sense of suffocation hanging over you as you found yourself hysterical. The sight of this dark, chilled, empty room was mocking you, driving you mad. Humming your favorite songs became a pastime as well as something to keep you awake so you didn’t pass out.

Your fingers subconsciously traced patterns on your tummy, the thought of your baby’s health worrying you. If your child died at the hands of your kidnapper, you knew you wouldn’t even have a chance to lash out on him before Scott lost control.

Hours passed – slowly of course, since humming lost its fun and you began to tap rhythms on the floor until one of the guards came over and barked at you – and you were scared to fall asleep that night. Your eyelids kept slipping shut, only to pop open when you realized what you were doing.

Mentally, you listed off possible baby names – anything to keep yourself awake.  It would be pretty cute to name it Melissa if it was a girl (you were secretly hoping for a girl, but in the end it didn’t actually matter). You knew Scott would love the idea and slipped your hand into your pocket to get your phone and text him.

But you remembered that your phone wasn’t there, and neither was Scott, and you were trapped here.

The reality of the situation began pushing down on you like a thick layer of smoke, infiltrating your lungs and pulling your breath away. The room spun, swirled together in a mix of gray walls and black silhouettes that were rushing towards you – the last thing you saw before slipping out of consciousness.


Being dropped onto a hard, metallic surface pulled you back into consciousness and your eyes flew open. It was bright; sunshine glared through the large wall of windows to your left. You were clearly taken somewhere – but it wasn’t home. You shifted on the chair you were so ungraciously placed upon and gasped.

The pack stood before you, all eyes wide with shock – you assumed you didn’t look the best at the moment. Your gaze met with your husbands, who shook his head as if this was his fault.

“Scott,” you murmured in relief.

“Ah, yes,” a hand was placed upon your shoulder and you nearly jumped out of your own skin. “Scott is here – but you’re not safe, yet.”

You bent your neck to glare at your captor and instead found yourself gawking at him.

“It is you,” you breathed.


A taunting grin stretched across his face. “Surprise.”

“But – but Scott let you go! He gave you a second chance…”

The previously demonic wolf shrugged. “I still want something from him.”

“What is it?” Scott interceded.  “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you don’t hurt her.”

“Well, Scott,” he slowly paced in front of you, “All those years ago, you may returned my vision to me, but you took away all of my power. I miss it, really.”

Malia squinted at the aged man, Kira holding the same expression. “So, what do you want?”

“I want Scott to join me and rebuild a pack together.”

“No –“ Scott started.

“– If you don’t, she dies.” Deucalion tilted his head, gesturing towards you.

You wanted to tell Scott that it was okay. Scott was always about doing what’s right, but you knew that joining Deucalion was wrong and would lead to more inevitable deaths than Scott could prevent. If you died, no one else would have to.

But you couldn’t tell Scott that it was okay. You had a baby inside of you; a living, breathing child that was yours to protect and care for. There was no way you would let your baby die, and neither would Scott.

Your desperate gaze locked with his, uncertainty heavy in the unspoken conversation between the two of you. Hope lay somewhere deep within all of your doubt that Scott had a way around this.

“I’m not going to join you,” Scott announced slowly, his stare unwavering, “and my wife is going to come home with me, unharmed.”

It was obvious that Deucalion was fuming with anger without even having to see his face. His hands trembled as they clenched in to fists, only to uncurl with claws sheathed. The room suddenly became full of glowing eyes and sharp weapons that surged forward to clash with one another.

Everything around you became less clear and your vision wavered in and out of focus; you were weak. Amongst the growls and clashes of metal, Lydia’s chilling wail rung loudly and that was the last thing you heard before your vision went dark.


Hours earlier, you had woken up in a hospital room, surrounded by the pack and your parents. Scott was the first to jump out of his seat and shower you with apologies and concerns. He had answered your endless questions about what had happened with hesitance; he had to kill Deucalion.

“I had given him a second chance,” he breathed, tear-filled eyes looking down at his fingers tangled with yours. “I didn’t expect him to do this, I thought he could change. I – I had to kill him, I had no other choice. He was going to…” He swallowed and shook his head.

“It’s okay, Scott.” You placed your free hand on his cheek. He brought his head up and mustered up a smile for you, his eyes dark – like soil after it has rained. “You did what you had to do. You saved the baby and you saved me.”

“I’m so glad I did.” He spoke just above a whisper.

“I am, too.” You crooned fondly at your stomach. “While I was stuck in that place, I had some thinking to do. I came up with some names that I’m pretty happy with.” You peeked up at him, failing to conceal your excitement.

Finally, he smiled – a smile that lit up his whole face. “And?”

“Well, if it’s a girl, Melissa.” His grin grew wider. “And if it’s a boy, we’ll name it –“

“– After me?” Stiles’ jumped in front of the doorway.

You pursed your lips. “Way to ruin the moment, Stiles. I was gonna say Tyler.”

Scott snickered as Stiles threw his hands up and stalked out of the room.

So, apparently people like Alpha!Stiles, and since there aren’t a whole lot of them out there, and I love the idea of Alpha!Stiles myself, I’m gonna keep adding to this whenever I can.  Peoplehave asked for reactions to Stiles/Malia/Peter!Pack, and those will nowdefinitely be coming up in a chapter or two.

And all my headcanons have a Stiles who knows magic, butSpark!Stiles in this is partially inspired by this.  Like seriously, I wish it was canon.  It would’ve made the series a hell of a lot more interesting.

AO3 link to ch2 of semper fidelis is here.

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Threads II

Part I

“You’re not gonna believe anything I say.”

They’re making their way back to Stiles’ jeep. Derek had tried, at first, to move on his own. Flinching from Stiles’ too gentle touch, averting his gaze from those soft brown eyes, too full of feeling. He’d barely made it two steps before stumbling straight into a tree, vision going black, Stiles’ surprised shout muffled and distant in his ears.

He’d agreed to lean on Stiles after that, still not looking at him, not focusing on his scent or the nervous flutter of his heart or the way Stiles would sigh every dozen steps like he was fighting for words and coming up blank. Until now.

Derek turns his face away, focuses on keeping his legs under him.

“She was messing with you though, Derek.”

There’s a tang of blood in his throat.

“So she didn’t make you…” He can’t even say the words.

“She didn’t make me love you,” Stiles confirms.

The jeep’s in sight, in the distance. The words ache in a way Derek convinces himself is relief.

Until Stiles’ thumb smooths down his side and he adds, softly, “I loved you before that. I have for a long time.”

He wrenches out of Stiles’ grip. Nearly hits the ground, hears Stiles yelp in surprise, annoyance. But he can’t… he can’t right now.

He can stand on his own feet, if only barely. He focuses on the movements of his legs, doesn’t lift his eyes to Stiles once. Doesn’t let himself look throughout the drive home either, flinches over Stiles’ shuddered breaths: barely caught sobs over fabricated feelings. Squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the few aborted attempts of “I mean it,” and “it’s real, ok, she didn’t…” and the three increasingly frustrated “I love yous.”

As though Stiles hadn’t been there in that clearing, hadn’t heard everything that Derek had. Hadn’t felt the fae crafting her spell as she whispered lies in Stiles’ ear, forcing him to believe them.

When they reach the loft, Stiles makes a movement like he wants to follow Derek out of the car. It makes him finally look up, meet Stiles’ eyes. He ignores the expression there, the one that seems to be pleading him for an understanding he can’t provide. Ignores the way Stiles’ whole body seems to be calling to him, like a pathway that had been shut before finally standing open.

He could have Stiles. He could have him, and Stiles would want it.

He shudders, breaking the gaze too fast.

“We’ll fix this,” he says, and pushes away from the car.

Ignores the sound of Stiles palm slamming into the dash. Ignores the frustrated mutter of “there’s nothing to fix.”

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Fic Request: Stiles accidentally walks in on Lydia masturbating and the two of them can hardly look at each other at the pack meeting that night. After the meeting, Stiles insists on driving Lydia home and they awkwardly discuss it in an effort to move forward and be comfortable with each other again.

Rating: MA

Genre: Smut

Author: notwithoutlydia

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